My crew replies but Dane’s garbled moan drowns them out. His battle cry is warranted. I am tugging his vest off so I can inspect his wound more diligently. Although I hate hurting him, if I don’t act quickly, he’ll suffer more than a tinge of pain. He’ll feel nothing.
The situation worsens when I remove Dane’s vest and shirt. He is bleeding profusely, meaning either an artery has been nicked or the bullet entered and exited his liver. Neither scenario is good.
“We need to get you to the medics. They’ll never make it here on time.”
Dane grips my hand, impeding my calculation of the steps from our location to base. Since his throat is filling with blood, his welling eyes have to speak on his behalf. He doesn’t want me risking my life to save his.
“If I don’t get you down that mountain, you’ll bleed out. It won’t be pretty, and it will hurt like fuck, but I’m not letting you die up here. You’re coming down that hill with me, Dane.”
When I attempt to throw him over my shoulder, he puts up a protest. Considering he is minutes from death, his strength inspires me.
“You either come willingly, or I’ll drag you down that fucking mountain by the scruff on your chin,” I grunt through the pain shredding my chest in half.
I know his issue. I know he’s worried I’m putting myself in the line of fire to save him, but if I don’t get him to a medic within minutes, hewillbleed out. This isn’t a possibility. It is a fact. I already lost a part of myself on this field tonight. I’m not losing him as well.
Dane locks his eyes with mine. His pupils are so massive, I can’t see any specks of blue. “K-K-Kristin.”
“No!” I shake my head so rapidly it grows woozy. “If you want to tell Kristin something, you tell her your goddamn self.”
Kristin is Dane's high school sweetheart. They married not long after we graduated college, and they had a baby girl only four months ago. She is the apple of her daddy's eye. I'm not going to let anything stand in my way of getting him back to his wife and daughter. If I'm taken down during the process, so be it. It won't be the only stupid thing I've done tonight.
Feeding off the adrenaline roaring through my veins, I yank Dane up by his arms. His helmet falls to the ground with a clatter when I heave him over my shoulder, landing next to my beloved 69ers cap. I wore that cap tonight as it's my lucky charm. It has never let me down.Had,I mentally correct.
The amount of blood seeping into my suit jacket is all the evidence I need to know I’ve made the right decision. For every second passing, Dane’s likelihood of survival diminishes. I have to get him to a medic, and I have to get him there now.
“We’re coming down. Cover us. Shooter is on a rock face northwest of base,” I advise my superior officers.
My radio crackles before I hear, “Hold back. We have no marksman in place.”
“I can’t hold back. If I hold back, he’ll bleed out.” Devastation dangles on my vocal cords.
"Hold back, Agent Rogers. This is not a suggestion; it is an order. . ." The rest of my supervisor's reprimand is lost when I yank my radio receiver from my ear.
I’ve broken enough rules tonight to have me removed from my position, so what’s another bout of defiance?
I fire three shots in the direction I believe the sniper is lying in wait before charging down the mountain. I’m not advising him of my location, I just need him ducking for cover long enough for me make it to the stand of trees three-quarters of the way down the valley.
We make it halfway to cover before pain shreds through my left knee. I continue racing to the tree line, using the harrowing pain to fuel my determination. The bullet that tore through my knee feels like I’m being operated on without anesthetics, so imagine how intense Dane’s pain is? I can’t let him suffer like this. He is my best mate.
I make it another good hundred or so feet before my busted knee buckles under our combined weight. We collapse onto the dew-covered ground with a thud, the roar leaving my throat unlike anything I’ve ever heard. I’m not screaming in pain. I’m frustrated. Annoyed. Pissed as fuck at the situation we are in.
If I had just left when I failed to find evidence of an illegal operation, we wouldn’t be hunkered down in barely an inch of grass, waiting to be slaughtered. But no, I had to listen to the irrational thoughts in my head. I had to see if Rae was as mesmerizing off the stage as she was on it.
I entered the backstage of Substanz as a civilian; I left as an agent.
While sheltering Dane’s body with my own, I scan the area. I’m expecting a helicopter to hover down low and protect us before a stream of agents charge the rockface the sniper is sheltered behind.
I get neither of those things.
I get silence—and a reminder that one life will never be more valuable than many.
Chapter Four
“Call him off.” My still unnamed hero leans over the seat to grip the driver’s suit jacket. “Call him off before I shell your body with as many bullets as are raining down that valley!”
The driver smirks a mocking grin, revealing the decision on who lives or dies isn't up to him, before returning his attention to the horrific scene unraveling in heart-clutching detail. The agent who let us flee is a sitting target. He is hunched halfway down the grassy meadow, using his body to shelter another agent who is clearly injured. If the slump of his head isn't enough of an indication to his near-death state, the amount of blood pooling into the blond agent's suit jacket is the final nail in the coffin. He is moments away from death—if he hasn't already crossed over.
Incapable of watching the horror unfold for a second longer, I return my eyes to my backseat companion. I want to plead mercy on behalf of the agents, but words are eluding me. I’m so stunned by tonight’s events, I can’t separate fact from fiction. There has only been one other time I’ve been stumped like this: the night of Luca’s death.
